And the love continues :3

Now guys, you've heard all my sappy nonsense talk and my endless gratitude for all of you

But it's all truthful.

I wouldn't be doing this without you all pushing my lazy butt forward

So thanks for that :)

Ok, now for some more clarification:

Astrosecond: About .5 seconds - Nanoclick: 1 second

Click: 1 minute - Breem: 8.3 minutes

Joor: 1 Hour - Kalon: 1 Day

Groon: 1 week - Orn: 2 weeks

Quartex: 1 Month - Decacycle: About 1 year

Vorn: 83 years

Hope that helps :D

Enjoy!

Of The Spark And Heart

Part 2

Chapter 52

Sweat flew as sparkling droplets of solidified strain, their salty rain sprinkled across the cold stone floor. Emotion flew with the tears of the skin, mixing a feeling of bitterness with their clarity. With a single gleam they hit the floor, soundlessly plopping among the grey and darkening the ground wherever it struck. Chilled drafts surged throughout the room as spacious as it was, and fluttered to life with an old grumble similar to that of an elderly man. Dreary, monotonous grey tones made the area feel incredibly smaller than it actually was. The four, prisonesque walls captured the darker moods of both men standing on opposite sides of it, turning it into pure energy when one of them repeatedly struck at a heavy pouch hung up from a tall frame bolted to the concrete.

Bandages ripped and fanned against his tanned skin, their surface exposing the near raw flesh of his knuckles. They remain a bright, vivid pink color, crosshatched scarlet marks adorning their front promising future bloodshed. He seemed unaware of this fact however as he repeatedly struck the long, heavy bag before him. It swung violently on its hinges and gave pathetic squeaks ever so often. Dull thuds forced plumes of dust to explode forth, as the bag was usually abandoned beside now.

The stoic silence was stark and unforgiving as the punches he threw. It was laced with intensity heavy as tar. His thick blonde hair, wavy from a lack of recent cutting, was stringy with wetness and slick under the flickering light. This place was never meant for private training, or destroying your fist from a constant attack on a helpless sandbag. Actually, it had been meant as a replacement for the ones in the workout area if one where to break, while this space was meant to serve its purpose housing the monstrous, armored vehicles and the few tanks that sit idly throughout. The soldier himself had been alone for some time now and had allowed himself to go insane on this sandbag with a murderous flame in his eyes. He appeared as though he wanted to rip a hole straight through the body of the bag no matter how long it took or number of scrapes it made on his hands.

Another few hits in, the echo filtering between the bland columns and indifferent titans of weaponry, the man backed off. His breathing was harsh and deep, his gulps for oxygen clearly suggesting his oncoming fatigue. But he refused to quit now. The feelings of numbness he received from this relentless exercising took his mind off other topics he found so disturbing. When he worked this hard, the anger faded and his mind shut down. He was busy every second of his days now, using every opportunity to steer his thoughts from less pleasant things.

His poor fingers throbbed in complaint and again he ignored them. Days of this treatment developed a sort of tolerance for him. A lonely plastic bottle rested against the wall and he reached for it, taking the striking ice-cold object in his grasp. It felt good to feel the conflicting temperature against the heat of his overworked body, and he jerked the top off, throwing it to the side. Still heaving air, the man ruffled his glistening, sweat-laden hair and tipped his head back to guzzle down the heavenly liquid until barely half of it remained. Gently, he pressed it to his fevered neck, relishing the feel as it cleared his mind from the fog of his workout.

"You been here long?"

A sigh escaped the soldier's nose, long and whistling. Many years ago, during his first tour in Iraq, he had crushed the cartilage in his nose by rushing the enemy line in what he figured was his last act of heroism. Instead, he'd killed about two tangos before he'd been caught off guard by a riffle butt to the face. He'd stayed conscious long enough to shoot down the soldier before dragging himself through the dirt, gushing blood, and collapse in a nearby trench. The reckless act gained him the nickname "Bulldog" and a good respect among his peers. It also put him on the watch list for N.E.S.T.

"'Bout two hours now," he answered breathlessly, tipping his head forward and rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. The bulging scar there rippled beneath his touch and he slowly went over it, thinking back to its story. That had been the first time he really believed he was going to die. The first of many, now that he thought about it.

Steps sounded behind him, approaching and then stopping a little ways back. The sandbag creaked on its perch again and swung a few times in the corner of the man's vision. A low whistle came from his dark-skinned companion, his hands resting on the berth of the bag.

"There's a training room on the other side of the building you know," he noted with a soft pat to the bag, his chocolate eyes following his peer as he turned. The blonde man did not respond, merely holding his water bottle in one hand while he carefully swiped away the drying sweat on his forehead. He then set down his bottle when their gazes had locked for a few moments, their quiet wavering. He slowly approached the bag, his fists raised, and he glanced over at the studious expression of Captain Robert Epps.

"I know," he threw out a powerful punch, "but I like this more. I think better here." Epps stumbled back a step and frowned deeply. His counterpart did nothing but wait for his target to return to its place. Rob sighed and moved back up, taking a better stance.

"It's depressing here, is what it is," he retorted sharply, grunting a little when his company threw a fist. "You can almost catch yourself thinking too much." he tensed at a particularly hard pound from the Colonel. James lifted his emerald eyes and muttered a soft "sorry" before continuing on.

The truth in his statement hit Marks to the core, making his heart sink further into his chest. It ached to think of his failures, the more recent the most painful of all. It helped marginally to continue his personal boot camp here in the artillery garage, but there was no escaping his sleepless nights spent staring at the featureless ceiling. He didn't know how else to handle disappointment like this. Stress in his worlds was handled by intense physical exercise. Maybe that wasn't every normal person's routine, but it helped him to get reprieve, if only for a short time, from what he was dealing with.

Was that what he was doing: running? A new sense of self-pity coursed through his veins and he growled. James launched a series of quick, short strikes to the bag, sending it pelting mercilessly into Epps without let-up. His anger was blinding him, sending a red sheen across his vision. The older man stood his ground, but he seemed to grow less and less light as he watched his fellow brother in arms swing away at the defenseless sack of sand.

"Jesus kid, don't overwork yourself. This isn't prison," he said between punches. His snort was anything but humorous when James simply went on with his exercise as if Epps had never spoken. Concern spread like a disease over his dark face. James was barely paying any attention, hitting with as much -if not more- strength as he had his first hit to the bag.

"You...may think...that, but...we always...need to be...ready," James grunted between almost every word. The skin on his hands finally broke, sending prints of crimson wherever he touched. Speckled rusty-brown freckles dotted the course, black-patched fabric from precious times he'd broken the thin layers of his hands. Scabs were a distant memory now as they were pulverized and split back open. Epps leaned over and noticed the marks, his face falling even greater now that he'd seen James' lack of care for his bleeding knuckles.

"Listen, we're all messed up right now kid, but trust me-" when James ignored his officer, the man stepped up and pushed hard on his shoulder, stopping him in mid swing. "Look at me, James."

This was a tone the laid back Captain rarely used. It meant something far more complicated than any fresh rookie rounding into the base could understand. They only lasted a week at the most, making it impossible for them to possibly comprehend what James did. That mask over Epps' eyes - the way he held his shoulders so stiffly; every fold underneath his eyelids from obvious refusal of sleep. James caught himself staring at Epps' tired features and he broke away to grab his bottle, afraid his own face was betraying his inner turmoil as well.

"Epps, we're different people with different problems..." he said as he took a swig of water before going on. "It's hard for me to believe we could be dealing with the same crap."

"Try me."

Two words, so simple but so powerful at the same time. It was hard to stay where he was as James placed the bottle back against the wall. He slowly stood straighter and shook his head, wiping a hand across the back of his neck to get rid of the new sweat there. The breeze from the air conditioner was giving him a chill from the liquid across his body, while the warm buzz from his past hours of strain were finally warring on him. Epps watched him intently, perhaps sizing him up. James bit his cheek, judging if he should take his friend up on the challenge. No. It definitely wasn't worth it.

He turned away and stalked around the bag to grab the small towel flung over the top bar of the frame. Dabbing his neck, he started away from Epps, but the Captain followed behind, his steps clapping against the concrete hurriedly. "You can't keep hiding away like this James, eventually you'll collapse."

"I'm a big boy Epps I can handle myself."

James wrapped the fluffy white cloth around his neck and held it there, twisting back to his superior. It was instantly evident to him that perhaps he shouldn't have spoken so blatantly toward the man. The frown was heavier than before, while his dark eyes shone with a distant fracture. James fought with his inner pride in whether to apologize to Rob, as he knew that exerting his internal situations against a friend wasn't beneficial for either of them. He opened his lips to speak before Epps interrupted him by raising a hand.

"Kid, all I'm saying is not to run yourself into the ground," he murmured, softer. "I've been there a hundred times over, and I'm sure I will a hundred times more. It sucks, it really does. Losing yourself is a ride from the Devil I didn't enjoy. But," he stepped up to Marks, "I didn't give myself the right to mourn my fallen friends. When Will died, Fera's old man, I was wrecked. He was nothing short of a brother to me. Now it's your turn to do what I did and learn from your scars - grow from them and wear them like a badge. Don't hide from them."

Epps jabbed a finger at James' chest and the Colonel allowed him to do so. There was no longer a hint of ire or irritation in him. There was only a sense of sadness and the echos of past pains. Where had the time gone where a twenty-something year-old man had offered himself to the will of the country, and wound up losing so much more than he'd imagined? The moment he'd made his first kill, down in the bowls of the enemy lines during the Afghanistani war, he found a part of himself he knew had died. His childhood disappeared then. Everything he'd ever known, or thought he did, left just as fast.

Though, it was the civilians who hit him harder than any. There were times where he caught himself and fellow peers standing before a pile of bodies, scored and unrecognizable except for the sizes of their mangled corpses. Children, most probably barely over five, remained locked in the cold grasp of their mothers' dead arms as they fought to save the lives of their children. Where had innocence gone then? Where was the justice in the world where a citizen, and innocent, just like Fera, was dragged into something they didn't ask to be apart of in the first place? What of the universal agreement to leave the women and children out of the path of a bullet? It was only matter of time until she found out about the Autobots, but must it have been so early? What would be different?

"Some scars hurt even after they've healed," James murmured grimly. "There's no helping what we feel for the good. She didn't deserve this; just like millions of others didn't in these pointless wars."

"Trust me, I know. Nothing hurts more than walking in on Sarah sitting with Fera like she has for the weeks," Epps agreed, his features becoming steely. "But she's the mother, she can suffer like that. We have a duty."

"I don't want duty if it means becoming a senseless robot in the first place!" James threw the towel on the ground in his abrupt snap of anger, his body swinging around as he paced back and forth in front of Epps. "I agreed to help save lives Epps, not stand by and watch them get taken. I'm sick of this never-ending feud that wasn't even ours to start with! They brought their issues here! Now look where it's gotten us," he growled. His arm swung out to aim at the door, "What have they to show for years of fighting but worst problems than they had before coming here? If they hadn't come, Will, Lero, Soulsearcher - all of them would still be here."

The voice of James lowered as his aggravation once again ebbed. Epps was silent, as he had been for some time now. Black, seething frustration settled within James' core while he and his superior locked eyes. It was difficult for him to concentrate on anything but the worst of their situation, though he knew there had to be, and certainly was, a better side to this story. There must be another chance for light to break through the fog. That didn't make it any easier to find.

"Let me get this straight," the Captain began. "You're blaming the same beings we've been allies with for years, who've helped us and stuck by us, even when we sent them off the planet?" Epps' eyebrow rose and the incredulous air around him breached James' own haze of blind rage. A new realization hit the Colonel, and he immediately regretted his words. The heat trickled from his flesh, the venom in his blood receding.

"No, Epps I-"

"The same 'Bots that came here after the Decepticons did, in order to protect us? Those 'Bots?" Rob cantered his head to the side and smiled in bitter amusement. "The same 'Bots that stuck their necks out for us to better this country and the world, and prevented numerable threats for war? Those 'Bots, right?"

"Epps-"

"James, there's only so much I can take from these idiots around here and still manage a smile for," Epps cut in, lifting his hands to stop his peer from speaking. "But you should know better than berating one of the 'Bots of all people - a fellow brother in arms."

Silence befell them both when James refused to speak for the fear of being reprimanded again like the child he was acting. In a single moment he'd gone from utterly fed up with the creatures whom made their home on the land beneath his feet, to wanting to slap himself for being suck a prick. His scar buzzed on his neck, reminding him once again about the loyalty he should give to those who would sacrifice for him. James feared trusting most from his time spent rising through the ranks, and he discovered how much more difficult it was for beings not from your planet. They only had one another up until now, and abruptly dedicated their lives for a planet that wasn't even theirs. James had his life and more to repay them with.

Of course he respected them. A man would be insane not to after all they'd done. It took courage to trust the losing team and stick with them even after they've fallen. It was the journey that made the memories, and James had plenty of them to mention in spending these few years with the 'Bots. What he actually felt, way down deep in his gut, was that he could have done so much more. Maybe if he had broken post from the Governor and listened to the tiny voice in his head screaming at him that everything wasn't ok. Maybe if he had let the Governor go with the others in those Autobots' more than capable hands, he could have returned sooner. Maybe.

"I didn't mean anything, I'm just..." James' shoulders sagged and he allowed his chest to deflate in defeat. "Things are rough. I figured just once we could have some peace and quiet. For once I thought she could walk around here and not have to worry about being nabbed by a Decepticon or stress over something other than clothes and shoes and makeup." his feet shuffled and he caught himself backing up into the wall. There, he let his body depend solely on this support while his head tipped back and aimed his eyes straight into the lights above.

Epps followed his lead and joined him at his side, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He stared off into the distance, his thoughts hidden behind the mask of his face. The features remain worn over by years of war and fighting. A man's life had been stripped from him, as it had for each survivor of this never-ending battle. The one clause in the contract that meant most, every single man or woman signed in joining the army, was that they were to lose their life. Perhaps not physically, but spiritually they'd be broken and their light snuffed. Epps was a walking corpse. He was simply a little more alive than those buried six feet under in the grasp of Mother Earth.

"Some things we can't control, and I know it's hard to deal with. Trust me, I do. Fera is another daughter to me, so believe me when I tell you this is really, truly killing me. I want to knock out a wall, pull out a 'Con's heart right from his chest, do something. But I can't. I can't do anything. And it's ok."

"Are you on crack?"

No laugh came from the Captain and no clue of humor dressed his dark features. James was now watching Epps from the corner of his eyes. He was unwilling to see the complete profile of the one man he saw as near invincible. It was similar to watching your father cry: it just did not happen. And when it did, it meant all was far from well.

A sucking black hole had opened somewhere in James' core. A sucking void was dragging him farther and farther into a place he hadn't been in a long time. Memories flashed through his vision telling a story of his younger days as a new recruit in his bed on base, the blankets covering his body as he lay in the fetal position. His eyes remained wide late into the hours of the night, sometimes never resting once during the waning hours. No words could describe that feeling. He knew then, at that moment, he no longer was a man. He was a soldier.

"Picking yourself up is a whole lot harder than falling down. And facing your fear is the best way of doing that. In your case, it's seeing that failure right in front of you," Epps said. He pushed James' shoulder when the Colonel didn't look down at him. It was clear he was off in his own world, listening, but not completely comprehending. "Have you even walked in that room since the accident? Have you visited her or Sarah once?"

James winced and curled his hands at his sides. "No...I haven't," he admitted behind gritted teeth. Where would visiting Fera help him? She was his real first fear personified. Always it had been the one element of life he'd tried so hard to avoid: failure. And most of it had been from the losses he'd gone through because of it. Failure to cure a fatal disease, failure to rescue a fellow brave soul, failure to pass an exam and realize parental disappointment - it was all connected.

"You should go visit her. Solas Kaon will most likely be there, so maybe you two could talk some. There's no harm in it."

"I'd rather not. I'm not the touchy-feely type."

Epps did give a short laugh at this, as if he found his companion's sense of reason funny. "Just like him," he noted. James picked up his head and peered at Rob as the man went on. "Listen, my dad used to tell me something when I was younger: You don't have to be a hero today. You just have to leave a legend tomorrow."

"What legend? If I'd been a hero that day, instead of waiting for tomorrow," James lifted himself from the wall and flung a hand at the door before letting it drop and hit his thigh, "Fera wouldn't be in a coma and the 'Bots wouldn't have lost Lero. We don't have the luxury of waiting." his voice had returned to the chill it held before. Blame knitted in the fabric of his words though he didn't want it to show. It was an accident that the ridiculous feeling had woven into his speech.

But Epps didn't react to the tone. He didn't yell or leave or scold him like he had earlier. James half expected anger to show up in Rob or some form of offense towards Marks. However, there was none. Only sadness remained in those too-brown eyes.

When he did eventually talk, it was steady and neutral. "Who said anything about waiting? You don't have to be a hero to leave a legend. The best ones are the ones you've never heard of."

"Tell that to Solas, I'm sure he'll appreciate it," James mumbled. Here, the man knew he was pushing it. Epps didn't have any legendary patience as Optimus Prime did. Nor was there a chance he would take sarcasm if it went too far. Marks realized he was being difficult, and he truly did want to be helped. But his pride was preventing that from happening. He walked away from the wall to put distance between himself and Epps.

"None of us could have prevented what happened James," the Captain decided firmly. Rob's tone was stern and on the verge of a warning. No mistake could be made now that this was where Rob drew the line. No more smart ass. "What's done is done. We have to move on and try to fix what's damaged...no matter what happens."

What Marks was certain of was that this man was determined. The stubbornness he bore for all to see on his sleeve spread like fire over his aura. It was hard to not believe as well, seeing the spark in his eyes and feeling the energy pouring from his every limb. There was a question left for all of them to answer, despite how impossible it may be to respond to. Efforts to solve the pain and run from the torment would come up. And yes, hardship and merciless trails would show. But was it worth it?

That was it. The question. It was going to haunt James for a good, long time.

"Keep on my aft, don't trail, and above all, shut up."

"Primus, Stratis, do you have to be so cranky?"

"If you cannot handle these conditions, I suggest you leave." she switched to internal comlink, ~Everyone roll call.~

~Optimus Prime, present.~

~Hound, alive an' kickin'.~

~Solas Kaon, present.~

~Mirage, presente.~

~Rodimus, here.~

Silence from the one remaining character standing in the main lobby. A group of selected Autobots, alongside their leader, stand in a half circle by the large doors of the space, patiently awaiting the event of their departure. The barrier was left tantalizingly wide open, allowed gusts of winter air to blast into the area and sprinkle white flakes across the silver floor. Human personnel stood speckled about with heavy clothing wrapped around their small bodies and other seemingly comical pieces of fabric cocooning their hands, necks, heads, and feet. A thin layer of frost covered each Cybertronian's frame, however none appeared particularly bothered by the freezing temperatures.

No other signs of Cybertronian life could be seen, as most were patrolling the grounds or working in their stations around base. Optimus was merely here to see them off, for his trip to Russia wouldn't be leaving for another joor or so. For once since her arrival, the fembot mated to him was nowhere to be seen. Already, Rodimus was assigned to take up his leader's place as head of the interception team. Stratis stood at the front of their small group, next to her Prime. Her servos sat on her hips as she waited for the last of them to speak up. Diligently, the yellow scout remained mute. It almost reminded Sol of when the mech was still without his working vocal capacitor.

"Bumblebee?"

"You said to shut up," the young cyberling answered her.

A snicker passed around them from both human and Cybertronian peers alike. Bumblebee on the other servo seemed genuinely sincere about his almost cheeky remark to his superior. This was more clear when he looked around him at those who bore a smirk on their faces, appearing innocently confused. Even Optimus Prime himself was unable to hold back his amusement of the cyberling. Stratis was not as cheerful as the others, and she crossed her arms and scowled in displeasure. Her angled features hardened into the shadows of her irritation.

Solas didn't share the laugh with his counterparts or mirror Stratis' annoyance, but he felt a lift in his mood and the weight on his spark to lighten if only slightly by it. Nothing seemed to irk the fembot more than when there was unnecessary interruptions during a serious time. She wasn't known as one who was ordinarily relaxed or laid back by any means. Solas had only met the fembot upon her landing on Earth those quartexes ago, yet already he was wise enough to give the fembot her room when they passed in the halls. Her sour demeanor didn't effect the brightened expressions of her peers. It was odd to hear the laughter from those surrounding Sol when there had been such crushing sullenness before.

The quick change dazed him for a click at the most and caused him to set his glazed optics on the smaller figures surrounding him. What condition was he in to participate in this scouting mission? His spark was shattered, frayed, and torn to shreds. His processor was in no better condition. It was difficult to perform the simplest of tasks now, as if he'd never been taught them in the first place. As he'd tread down the halls, Doctor Shelby had once compared his deterioration to a 'zombie'. Some later research into that made Solas intensely unsettled.

This tight chuckling that had supposedly broke some of the tension among the Autobots and humans ended with a dry fade into the atmosphere. Solas' energon ran cold through his lines, from more than simply the chill of the dawning winter months. A shiver racked his ice-laced frame and gained him a concerned glance from Rodimus, who was stationed beside him. Stratis may or may not have noticed his discomfort, for she didn't show any signs that she did. Instead, she blew off Bee's past unintentional joke and scanned the small ranks.

Two pairs of piercing cyan orbs narrowed. "Where are Sideswipe and Sunstreaker? They were to meet with us here clicks ago," she demanded. She shifted stance and leaned on her right, her calm expression slowly and mercilessly driving into each being she peered to. Finally she landed on poor Hound, who glanced on either side of him before he jumped and raised his servos placatingly.

"I ain't seen tha two since Primus knows when. Last tahm I did, they were refillin' in the stockroom," he reported. To further his words, the mech crossed his digit over his spark in a large X. Apparently that had been another gesture the human-friendly mech had picked up around base. Stratis looked to Rodimus.

"I have yet to see either twin since our fight with the Decepticons," he announced. That helped much.

Hound slowly raised a servo, his helm shrunk into his shoulderbolts as everyone peered his way. "Want meh ta go find em'?" his attempt at pleasing the fembot must have worked, for she nodded and her features softened. Her optics found Solas standing towards the rear of the gathered and she jerked her helm at the leaving scout, gesturing for Solas to follow behind. The pair left their comrades for the seclusion of the halls, where they traveled in utter silence.

Their steps were but a dull strike against the featureless grey floors, and a muffled whisper from the walls. Shadows of past memories flashed by Sol's sight during their strenuous vigil and he winced at their remnants. It was enlightening to realize how simpler things had been before coming to Washington D.C, though they were not at all pleasant anyway. Fera had been kidnapped, shot at, and involved in a battle that nearly wiped out his spark, yes, however that was nothing like what had transpired here. Death had occurred largely on these grounds. There was more injury and fear and uncertainty tainting this steel structure than the Saint Louis base ever bore. With its weakened system of confidence in its security, a sense of hope or fortitude was failing to stay fresh in the sparks of the Autobots as well as their human comrades.

The question cycling through each of their CPUs was if their charge was to survive. She was no longer his alone to look over. Everyone held some tie with the teenager now no matter how brief or limited it may have been. The doctors knew her name backwards and forwards, including each wound she'd acquired in her time with them. Personnel roaming about in the most remote corners of the base recalled the smallest wave of her hair or the peculiar speckles of color in her irises. Autobots across the American continent had personally greeted her at least a single time. But none would know her as he did - none would know her secrets by heart or realize her most darkest, paralyzing fears.

Their bond may have broken, but Solas still had his memories.

That ghost of a connection released nothing that would resemble a return of her life or its rejuvenation. The silence was driving him mad, as he'd had another being in his consciousness for almost six quartexes now. To have such an intimate connection taken away just as abruptly as it was bestowed made his tanks violently knot. He'd had injuries before that required long, frustrating, and painful recovery. This however...this was a whole other experience. And it became worse with ever passing kalon. Hills were building where their should have been steps.

"How ya holdin' up Sol?" Hound wondered as he suddenly clapped a servo on Solas' spinal support. The mech stumbled forward in his shock, but regained himself before he could lose his balance completely. It had happened already earlier this kalon when Solas' body quit without warning and he'd collapsed. He prayed to Primus it wouldn't happen again, here of all places. And thankfully no 'Bot or human had found him in that state before he could recover. It was still unclear to him what caused it.

"I was never allowed to be otherwise unwell."

"I'm guessin' that's ah 'good'."

No sign of ease loosened the awkwardness in the small space separating the mechs. It seemed as though the air itself was holding its breath, waiting for the inevitable split. Solas was fighting for every step, growing further and further unsure of himself the longer he stay online. The truth was that he hadn't felt so broken in so many vorns. In the orns of his creators' deaths he was lost and confused and oh so very angry with the worlds; Primus included. Where was he to go without his precious fembot creator Nova? Or his honorable and loyal mech creator whom had gone from a Decepticon, to a great, noble Autobot warrior? And his dear sister Starlily...

"Yer awful quiet from what ah remember abou'cha," Hound murmured, trying to somehow keep conversation flowing. It was a feeble attempt to start one, but Solas didn't feel annoyed about it. Instead he appreciated the gesture and accepted it with a grateful spark. The deeply green scout never really did well with an uncomfortable or otherwise silent situation. Solas couldn't say he felt the same, as quiet was peace to him, but he liked anything that moved his processor from darker things. Glancing beside him he found Hound watching him with a steady, concerned gaze.

The friendly mech had always offered a sense of comfort for those who knew him. For vorns upon vorns Solas had relied on support such as this to make it through his life cycle. Tragedy hadn't sat well with Sol, no matter the one lost. As long as they were close to him there never ceased to be a supply of sparkbreak for him. This often explained his distance from peers or other Cybertronians altogether he built. Eventually, he stopped socializing altogether.

"You're suggesting I was talkative before?" Solas asked in curiosity. He'd always figured himself a lone mech who none truly found worth talking to, nonetheless understanding. Apparently he had been wrong.

"Well no...not as much as meh..." Hound's servo came up to rub the wires at the back of his neck. It was a habit he'd picked up from spending so much time around the humans. It was common to see such actions developing in the Autobot faction. From shaking servos to making crude jokes usually only the men made, the Autobots had formed bonds with these species that could never be broken. Sol found his anxiety and inner fierce loyalties arise as they had in Fera towards him.

Hound nudged Solas out of his daze and the black Guardian snapped back to attention. "But yer showin' signs of bein' unwell. Ya did talk ta us a lot more than this. Even if ya were quiet, ya still said somethin' sometahms." his arm dropped beside him again when Sol looked away. He dare not utter a word, fearing that he was to say something he'd regret. There was a promise he had made to himself to not include anyone in his personal issues. His processor was his own, and it would stay that way. At least until Fera's case, that was.

Their steps became the only sound once again. Not the milling soldiers or other personnel spoke up against the building silence. Those who walked around the traveling Autobots gave them nervous glances and made certain to walk well away from their peds.

"Solas Kaon," Hound called firmly in their natural language, his accent gone. "Look at me."

Solas did just that, if only to retain his respect for this mech. He was numb and listless when he met optics with the elder 'Bot. Hound's optic ridges came down deep and he stopped, turned slightly towards his peer. Sol did halt as well but was too indifferent to avert his expression. Whatever pride he held was now shattered. He was left alone and without his charge, whom held the very bond keeping him sane at the time. Autobots and humans alike recognized his waning strength. What did he gain trying to hide what was already known?

"Primus mech, you're a broken one," Hound vented, his shoulderbolts sagging. "I had no idea you two were so connected. It tears at me to see you so out of it like this." his servo came down and clamped on Solas' shoulderbolt, "There's too much darkness around here already, and I can't handle losing another brother to this war. Isn't there any way I could help you? Offer an open audio maybe?"

"No. You can't help me," Solas Kaon assured, offering the saddest of smiles. He couldn't find it in him to be aggravated at Hound for trying to help him. He could never grow angry at the gentle scout. There was no side of him that could find the ball bearings to blatantly send off his comrade's offer. However there was no way he could agree to it either. Hound wouldn't understand the boundless sense of loss coursing through each pump of Sol's spark, nor would he realize the true immensity of a cut bond. Hound himself was a single spark, without a sparkmate or sibling by his side to mourn.

He didn't appear to understand this concept however as he gave Solas a slow shake of his helm. The strong anchor of Hounds bright optics held Sol to the spot for the time being, as they showed too much disappointment and worry to ignore. Hound himself didn't speak, apparently being lost for words. Their quiet left the room for the pain to simmer within Sol's energon and allow his conscious the opportunity it wanted to play with his thoughts. His frown marred his faceplates and burned a hole into his feigned mask.

Holding back his dam against the flooding waters of his agony proved difficult to do in the joors of the Earth day. At night he allowed himself to fall into the paralyzing locking of his limbs; the electrified shocks of fire sending shivers down his arms, legs, and spinal relay; the lack of ability to vent properly; occasional blindness before he would eventually black out altogether and sink into merciful recharge. Yet then he would see the loops of his terrors and the corrupted sights from his moments spent helpless against the enemy.

Cybertronians didn't dream. That was fact. That did not mean however, that Solas was immune to memory relapse.

"You remind me a lot of Rodimus, you know that?" Hound said as he finally forced their wordless stretch to end, and brought forth a new topic of distraction. Solas drew himself back to the present to see Hound staring away from them into the farther depths of the hall. "The both of you have been through so much. It's amazing to see the incredible perseverance you've both shared while with us, or even before." the mech smirked and huffed in his gruff, Hound-ish way, "Do you know he was a Prime? Not for very long mind you, but he was."

It was Solas' turn to be speechless in his shock. His frame wouldn't allow him to respond beside a simple knit of his optic ridges. Hound nodded in confirmation after giving a smile of pure entertainment. There was now a glint in the mech's optics that shone great in his entertainment.

"Listen," Hound ordered as he again grabbed Sol's shoulderbolt and turned them both to the hallway to begin their trip once more. "Rodimus was not always such. At one time we knew him as Hot Rod," Hound chuckled in his sentimental memories as Solas grinned at his comrade. This scout was hard to read at points. His attitude was so unique and different from what Solas was used to, and so refreshing at the same time, he could never seem to see what was coming next.

"Now Roddy wasn't my first pick for future Prime, he wasn't. But at the same time I saw something in him that no other 'Bot had. There was a fire there, right in here," he proclaimed, pounding a solid fist on his chassis. "When Optimus Prime's first group left for Earth on the Ark, he stayed behind with the other Autobots and Elita One's contingent. They fought in our place against the Decepticons who had also chosen to stay behind, in order to keep Cybertron out of their grasp. While we were unable to keep steady contact with them, I was there long enough to see Hot Rod grow into something I'd never seen."

They both turned a corner before Hound went on. "Elita One and I spent much of our time fighting with Roddy and the others, like the Wreckers and those Junkions to name a few. The spitfire mech had some fight in him, I'll tell you. The stubbornness in him could have beat out Ironhide when bad enough. But it was a valuable trait when we fought," Hound's voice trailed off and his optics darkened."I can still remember it clearly when we all thought Optimus had deadsparked..." Solas fell in the silence as well when he heard this from his companion. At the time of the Prime's supposed deadspark, Solas was with his own small group of refugee Autobots on their way to answer his hail to Earth. As such, he was limited in his knowledge of what exactly happened.

Hound patted Solas' shoulderbolt and managed a smile at him. "We all couldn't believe it. But Elita...oh poor Elita...she was barely a shell of herself. She was literally falling apart before our very optics. She could no longer lead us, for she was crippled and left to her berth." the energon storage room was but down this hallway, but Solas paid it no attention as he let himself become victim to Hound's story.

"We were surprised if she could ever stand or refill on her own. Every recharge cycle we ourselves stayed up for joors, terrified she would quit venting during the middle of the late orn. It was amazing to see her strength in going on, and we fought to believe her claims that he was not truly gone, but...we knew it was only a matter of time. If a sparkmate perished, their other half would follow unless they bonded with another immediately. Elita One wouldn't even consider it."

"How did she survive?" Solas inquired softly.

Hound smiled wider and stopped them as they came yards from the entrance to the energon depository. Facing each other now, Hound focused his gaze solely on the one before him. "Rodimus," he answered simply.

"Hot Rod had climbed the ranks in our leader's absence, enough to be viewed as Optimus' rightful heir. As such, the High Council brought him before them and decided he was indeed worthy of leading the Autobots." Hound's servos rested on his hipbolts, "He was granted the Secondary Matrix of Leadership that had been crafted by Alpha Trion via the Forge of Solus Prime and Vector Sigma. When Rodimus was granted the Secondary Matrix, he became a mech no one believed he could be. He became a leader - a true, full-out Autobot. He became Rodimus Prime."

"And of Elita?"

"Elita One was deteriorating. Granted, it was a slower pace than many predicted she could last. Nonetheless, she held out to see the crowning of the next Prime. We feared she was finished when she finally broke following Rodimus' inauguration," he rumbled. Hound's helm shook from side to side, his gaze low. "She didn't have long, and we knew that. Rodimus was terrified of losing yet another mentor, especially one whom he often claimed as his fembot creator throughout his orphaned sparklinghood. So, in his desperation, he bestowed the Secondary Matrix on Elita One."

"Is that not dangerous?"

"Of course. We had no idea what was going to happen," Hound said as he began to laugh, catching the attention of a few humans nearby. "That didn't stop Rodimus from turning Elita into a Prime. Little did we know then how truly genius it was for him to do that." they paused as a noise came from the room beside them. It was a small clatter, perhaps a box hitting the floor, but it didn't attract too much attention. Hound threw Solas a knowing look, and the two mechs shared a moment of consideration. Continue the story, or check into the disturbance?

No humans were screaming or yelling, which was a good sign of peace for now. Along with that, the noise had died and the harmony of daily life on Earth went on. The choice was made.

"Now recall how Optimus was a Prime as well," the forest-green mech accounted. "Elita One was bonded to Optimus, whom was in turn connected to the Matrix of Leadership. Because of this, her spark recognized the gridmap of the Secondary Matrix and confused it for the Primary Matrix of her mate. It restored her for the time being and kept her alive so long as it stayed within her chassis."

"Rodimus didn't only give her a second chance for life, he permanently relinquished his position of Prime. Without the Secondary Matrix, Elita would surely have deadsparked. This forced the High Council to accept Elita's new title as leader. Elita One took on the name of Rethalia Prime and devoted her new chance to finding Optimus."

Hound cut off again when the clashing and banging picked up in the neighboring room. The volume of it had grown in a mere astrosecond and was now gaining the acknowledgement of various humans around the mechs' peds. Giving a groan that shook the ground Sol stood upon, Hound swung around and lunged forward. Solas was quick to follow as his spark started to pound in his chassis. Before they could come close to the entrance, a large, bulky object launched from within. It clashed against the wall, sending sparks flying and shrapnel everywhere. Thankfully the people nearby were able to dodge it in time and get to safety with the help of the soldiers. Hound cringed, giving an apologetic word to the humans, and slowly turned his body to the room.

Sol joined his peer by his side to get a better view. What he saw inside both shocked and angered him. The twins.

"Slag-ridden spawn of vexpa!"

"We come from the same creators you idiot!"

"Frag you!"

What the humans would be hearing was high-pitched screeching and clicks. Thankfully the true meaning behind the Autobots' words was hidden. Their rage against one another was not so masked unfortunately, as a crimson flash jolted to the side a split nanoclick prior to the throwing of another obstacle out the door. Hound managed to move out of the way in enough time to dodge. Solas however, was not so lucky.

Instant pain registered in Solas' processor as his frame flew backwards and collided with the wall behind him. Waves of sparks erupted forth from the metal-on-concrete contact. His wiring buzzed to life, sending messages of damage and a possibly lacerated left elbowjoint. A deafening slam sounded from the hit, sending a few humans to the floor with their ears covered. Solas crumpled to his aft, his body pinned to the wall by whatever was thrown at him. His legs felt unsteady even as they laid along the floor.

As he'd hit his helm, Solas' vision swam and his thoughts became scrambled. Registering light and sound became a hearty task to do. Wincing, Solas picked up an arm seemingly made from the heaviest substance in the galaxies and rubbed his aching cranial unit. His spinal support as well had suffered. Pulses of complaint arose from his relay and in turn sent strings of electrified shocks of discomfort over the entire wiring grid of his frame. Tingling brushed invisible needles over the surface of his digit tips and toelinks.

Time passed through a suffocating fluff in agonizing leisured clicks. Astroseconds turned to joors as Solas fought to regain his senses. A lump of living mass made their way toward him and stayed there. Something waved before his faceplates and jostled his sore shoulderbolt. A quick look into that told him he had a strained pivotjoint.

Instinct eventually took over, and brought him into reality faster than he could handle. His sights clearing, Solas swayed with the overwhelming vertigo keeping him from standing. Details came into better focus to reveal Hound blocking a majority of Sol's view. It hurt to try moving his injured shoulderbolt, but he ignored the minor discomfort and shoved whatever it was ontop of him to the side. It tumbled away to rest to his immediate right.

Strong servos came down to help him up, however Solas waved off the assistance and gained his ground on his own. After a moment of massaging his cranial unit, Solas found he could comprehend Hound's words now. How long had he been speaking?

"...alrigh' Sol? Nothin' outta place?" he must have been talking in English to assure the humans.

"I'm fine Hound, but..." it was here that the pieces came together. He began to understand what had happened to him and who it was that had done it. A full circle of emotion gripped him in that short click. Full of anger, then surprise, then impressment, then more bitter anger. Petty fighting from the twins had left unrecognizable machinery and furniture both for the Autobot and human kind decorating the ground as a form of confetti.

"But they won't be," Sol growled. He stalked forward before Hound could stop him and made his way into the depository. The yelling became louder and the violence increased. The room was in shambles, with energon dripping from the walls and shards of incredibly sharp metal sticking out from the pumps. Steam poured from a punctured tube connected to the energon depositor. Its damage pushed Solas' anger to fury. What could these twins be fighting over that meant the destruction of the producer of their most precious sustenance?

Solas' optics burned with a vivid glow as he snapped them from side to side. He scanned the space for these two monstrosities, his left optic shaded in a faint purple. Servos curled and legs striding the length of the room in the matter of an astrosecond, Solas was at the rear of the depository with his vents humming and his plates shuddering. The culprits of this mess were going at it in the furthest corner, their frames tangled in a bundle of gold and ruby. A broad slate was thrown backwards and Solas ducked to the side to avoid it.

Swirling colors mixed when these mechs struck out at one another. Fists flew and words spat venom in each other's faceplates. Whatever had transpired here, they were out for energon.

Neither mech was missing scratches across their paint. It was rare to see them so indifferent toward their coats. It was something they took great care of. Up until now, Solas would have been stunned. At this very moment, he was two bytes away from joining them and taking them both out.

Sideswipe suddenly broke away from his twin and transformed his peds into his signature wheels, using them to his advantage to glide around his brother and strike from varying positions. Sunstreaker was using his own technique of pure brute to thrash himself around and catch his twin whenever he could. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker kept their weapons sheathed, but with the rising intensity between them, Solas was sure they were to show up at some point. Snarling, he surged forward. Hound appeared at his heelped, ready to wrestle the two apart. Solas had a slightly different plan in processor.

"Sunstreaker! Sideswipe! Knock it off!" Hound barked, sprinting ahead of Sol to jump in the midst of the brothers' showdown. Sideswipe simply swerved around Hound and hit his golden sibling. He then pivoted on the spot and was chased by an infuriated yellow blur.

Sunstreaker dived after Sideswipe and tackled him to the floor. They began their rolling, cursing, and hitting match once again. A drop of energon splattered to the cold concrete from one of the them. Hound gave a noise of utmost frustration and turned on his heelped to hunt after the two while they tumbled recklessly about. Solas could no longer hold back the flood of feeling pushed from the depths of his CPU. He allowed himself to give into each reined in emotion. And he tore off.

Sideswipe was closer to him, so he went for that mech first. Hound was behind him somewhere, yelling orders and gripping at Sunstreaker to tear the fighting pair apart. Solas had no trouble prying them apart, throwing them back from one another when he had. Hound fell to the ground in the force of the blow.
Solas could no longer comprehend anything but himself and his pent-up agony. A sheen of red had pierced anything he looked at, and a searing fire latched onto his left optic. Power rushed into his limbs, spurring him on to grab Sunstreaker at the collar of his chassis. Choking emptiness clotted his vents, causing them to release spurts of smoke with every pitiful cycle. Electrified ripples flushed in his processor down his spinal relay as his battle programming hummed to life. Blooming sickness started from the innermost of his core. His tanks twisted and his servos clamped down to hold back his strength.

There was nothing to stop his release any longer. He couldn't, nor wanted to, stop himself from slamming Sunstreaker into the wall and pushing his faceplates so close to his that their noseplates almost touched. He couldn't stop his spark from racing at impossible speeds; the raging in his calls to his broken bond flung a net over the compounds of his thoughts.

She never answered. She never did. Why?

Shivers rattled his arms and legs as he held his target clear off the floor. Sunstreaker's peds dangled, his servos locked around Sol's. They were both heaving to regain their normal venting patterns. Solas' was lined with an acidic wrath so potent that he could taste the energon sneaking up his throat. He was straining himself and his already dead bond, causing himself to break from the inside out. He both felt and mentally saw his frame ripping apart at the seams of the bond. It was in the center of it all - always the cause.

"What the frag do you two think you're doing?" Solas ground out, his oral sheets clenched and lubricant flying from his lip plates. Sunstreaker scowled and struggled against Sol's hold. This only made the black warrior pick him up and slam him back down on the wall, his handle heightened. Sunstreaker gave a low grunt and winced.

Solas could feel Sunstreaker's armor denting under his grip. He couldn't care less.

"You two are fully upgraded mechs," Hound scolded as he held a writhing Sideswipe down on the floor. "And yet you're acting like younglings!"

"I was not the one to start this! Sunstreaker-"

"You slagger!" Sunstreaker bellowed, kicking out to get free. He hit Sol's abdominal slips, knocking the air from his vents. Solas stood his ground however, actually tightening his servos around Sunstreaker's armor.

"I don't give a byte who started this," Solas snapped at the both of them. The twins seemed calmer now, being separated. Nonetheless Solas could still see the energy burning bright in their gazes. They stared daggers at one another from across the room.

"Tell me what you two were doing, wrecking the place like this," Hound demanded.

Sideswipe surrendered to Hound's restraint while Sunstreaker continued to remain defiant toward Sol's. Dried energon smeared on his faceplates, caking his handsome features in bright azure fluid.

For some time now, the mechs had respected one another. They let the other do what they did and left things at that. This did not mean they thought highly of each other. There was a mutual pact between them to keep far away from each other's personal space, seeing as they were too similar and too hot-tempered to stand one another long. And it showed in the dangerous way Sunstreaker scowled at his captor.

"It was...a trinket," Sunstreaker muttered lowly, miserably. For a nanoclick, Solas believed he heard embarrassment in the mech's voice. It was softer than before, more restrained. Sideswipe huffed and laid the side of his faceplates on the floor to rest. Hound moved in the corner of Sol's vision to get off of his comrade, freeing Sideswipe.

"A trinket-?"

"You both destroyed our one source of energon for a trinket?!" Solas interrupted, his voice loud enough to send an audible ring off the walls.

He was outraged - beyond words. This claim that they would kill the sole source of their energy for something as simple as a trinket put the idea in Sol's processor to slit both their jugular lines. He bore his weight into Sunstreaker and planted the frontliner dead in the wall. Sunstreaker winced from the strength of his bicolored-optic peer. This was worse that anything Solas would have possibly imagined the brothers doing. This crime was against all Autobots on base.

Sunstreaker pushed against Solas, trying to give himself some space. Solas held strong however, making it increasingly difficult.

"My fembot creator...gave it to me...when I-"

"A trinket, Sunstreaker," Solas snarled. "You damaged the depositor for a trinket."

"Sideswipe broke it! And I became angry with him!" Sunstreaker insisted. Solas had a good processor to pound this mech to the tiniest bits and pieces of scrap. Whatever could have brought such stupidity upon these twins, Solas couldn't fathom. It had to of been the cruelest jokes these two could have played.

If not for his crimson twin coming in to grab Sol's arm, he very well could have done something regrettable. "Let him go," he demanded. Solas narrowed his optics at Sideswipe and reluctantly let go of the one he held, allowing Sunstreaker to hit the floor with a dull thud. "Besides, the depository is fixable. It wasn't completely destroyed," Sideswipe added to his brother's claim. For two mechs who only clicks before appeared ready to tear out each other's sparks, they made up fast. Sideswipe crouched low to check on Sunstreaker while Hound stepped up to stand by Sol.

"He's right Solas, the machine can be fixed."

"That does not justify their actions, Hound. They nearly killed each other over something as silly as a trinket. How are we to take them with us to scout the sight in New York?" Solas swept his arm out at the two on the floor and Sunstreaker gave Solas a quite immature glare.

"That is for Optimus to decide," Hound stated flatly.

"Great," Solas grunted and reached down to the mechs before him. He snatched both behind the neck without warning and flung them around him to sit at his rear. Sideswipe cried out in more surprise than pain, where as Sunstreaker began his struggling the instant Solas had his digits around his armor. They were helpless however as Solas jerked his shoulderbolts and shook both into position. Here, they couldn't free themselves for the worlds, and they knew this. Solas was stronger than them both when he was agitated, and this fact became obvious when Sunstreaker was unable to detach himself no matter what he tried.

Hound stared at Solas as though he were a phantom, standing stock still when the ex-gladiator dug his peds into the floor and started at the door. With the twins dragging behind him, Solas kicked up a storm of sparks and clattering armor, as well as physical and vocal protests from the twins. They weren't going anywhere soon if he had anything to do with it.

Humans made well sure to stay back when Solas came through, covered in scratches and a few drops of energon -which was found to of come from Sideswipe's busted nose plate-. Hound said nothing about Sol's treatment of the twins. Solas wouldn't have listened if he would have, finding this punishment for both senseless idiots minor compared to what he truly wished to do. Sol could feel his optic returning to its normal coloring, but the blaze within him still burned.

This trip would seem longer, mainly from Solas' aggravation, while at the same time it would be worth the wait. His patience was waning at swift speeds. This time to cool off would give him a better grip on his inner turmoils. It turned his processor onto other things than what he dreaded, and this rough event on his frame granted him the chance to use up some of his excess energy.

The entrance to the lobby came within view, and soon, Solas was stepping into the expanse of the concrete room, two very displeased twins trailing a rain of light behind him. Optimus was speaking with Rodimus in the middle of the floor, Rethalia standing beside both. Mirage sat back on a balcony, playing with the knives in his bracers. Bee was squatting in front of Colonel James Marks, making conversation that involved much gesturing and laughing from both the man and 'Bot.

When Optimus and the others all laid optics on the arriving group however, all attention turned solely on the four. Nothing else moved. All venting ceased. The air itself went still.

And Solas threw a flailing Sunstreaker and Sideswipe before him, causing them to roll across the floor before stopping at Optimus Prime's peds with a startling clang in the overall quiet. Shock danced in the Prime's cerulean orbs. He and his sparkmate lifted their faceplates to give Solas flabbergasted looks, matched by all by Mirage, who merely flicked his optics in Sol's direction instead of completely turning his helm. Solas stabbed a digit at the two stirring twins, his own gaze bathed in flames.

"Deal with them."

Ooooh, somebot's in trouble...

Let's be honest, they were being a little immature.

Sol certainly wasn't having any of it

And neither will OP :o

But Fera's still out, and she will be for a little while...

And I'm pretty sure you all are going to hate me after what I do to a few of our 'Bots...

Whelp,

I'll just hope you guys stick with me for the second half of this endless drama party :3

See you all next week! (ugh, school DX)

*Chapter inspiration: Breaking The Habit= Linkin Park*